


it comes and goes in waves

by SugarFey



Series: Life Is Hard To Find Again [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 05:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13451766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarFey/pseuds/SugarFey
Summary: I've seen battle fatigue before.Brunnhilde spends the night in Thor's bed. It does not go well.





	it comes and goes in waves

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [got a war in my mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993555) by [SugarFey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarFey/pseuds/SugarFey). 



> This is a sequel to 'got a war in my mind' and 'and echoes lost in space,' but it can also be read as a stand alone fic.
> 
> Brunnhilde and Sigrid's relationship is described in 'and echoes lost in space,' but you don't have to have read that fic to understand this one.
> 
> Warnings: discussion of PTSD, brief mention of suicidal thoughts.

The air boils.

A horse falls from the sky, crumpled, his wings tattering into ash. The sword in her hand is too heavy to lift, her legs too slow.

A shove against her shoulder, a flash of blonde hair, a scream-- 

“Brunn, Brunn, it’s me, wake up!”

The voice is too low, too male, what… 

A startled face forms in front of her, disorienting in the panic. She’s smothered in silky sheets, hot light burning her eyes, and she lashes out at the nearest body to her, pinning his throat with her forearm.

Thor. King of Asgard.

“ _Fuck.”_

She rips her arm back and half climbs, half stumbles from the bed in a heap, lungs aching. Thor calls something behind her, maybe her name, but she launches herself across the floor, ignoring the impact of the cold, hard metal on her knees. Escape is the only option, but where?

Her hands find the handle of the en suite, and she’s through the door and banging it shut before he can make it across. 

The light flickers on automatically, stinging her eyes as she sits down heavily on some kind of seat, probably the toilet lid. She tries to block the light and the noise and the cold, everything too close and too far away. 

It might have been hours when the knock on the door pounds through her skull. “Brunn, please.” 

She knows that voice. 

“You don’t have to open the door, but please tell me if you are all right.” 

The king. Of course. A hint of recognition creeping through the edges of her unreality. But not Odin, she remembers. Thor.

Her lips open with the intention of forming words, yet silence is all she can manage. In other moments on other worlds she may have sworn back, may have cursed and yelled him into submission, but this is not Sakaar, this is not Asgard, this is the black unknown of space.

Another knock. “Brunn? Valkyrie? I’m going to open the door.” 

Thor comes in with his head bowed and his posture so carefully neutral it must be practiced. He has a blanket draped over one arm and a glass of orange liquid in his outstretched hand. “How are you feeling?” 

Brunnhilde does not give him a response, but judging from his sad smile, he did not expect one from her. Instead, he gestures with the blanket. “You must be cold.” 

She shrugs in an entirely pointless display of bravado, as she’s naked and must be visibly trembling. Slowly, Thor comes forward to place the blanket across her lap, and she wraps it around her shoulders without a comment. 

Sighing, Thor crouches down in front of her. “I’ve seen battle fatigue before. Have some juice, it helps with the shaking.”

“I don’t suppose you have whiskey?” Her voice does not sound like her own, even if the words do. 

“Only juice, I’m afraid.”

She takes his offered glass and gives the sweet liquid a cursory sip before handing the drink back. “No offence, but I’m really after something stronger right now.” 

Thor takes the glass with another sigh, tucking the blanket closer around her shoulders instead. “How often has this been happening?” he says, and his voice is too gentle to bear. 

“Depends. Been happening more lately since your brother’s meddling,” she adds with an acid twist.

Thor bows his head, but he knows better than to rush to his brother’s defence.

“See, this is why me spending the night is a bad idea,” Brunnhilde says bitterly, though she isn’t sure if she’s speaking to him or herself. “No matter how good the sex was.”

She had known it was a mistake. Thor’s voice had been so damn sincere when he asked, and she was floating in post-orgasmic bliss and feeling just plain good for once, that she had nodded sleepily and rolled over as he pulled the blanket over them both. She may have even let him cuddle. No wonder her decisions came back to bite her in the ass. 

“I should go.” 

Thor takes her hand, rubbing small circles over her knuckles. “You don’t have to.” 

She touches the side of his face but pulls back before he can lean into her palm. “Yeah, I do. It’s not like I’ll sleep again tonight anyway.” 

Thor drops her gaze, and she can see the resignation in the movement of his shoulders. He doesn’t try to stop her when she stands and moves past him to the door, and the thought that he might feel pity for her is too much to bear. 

“Can you promise me you’ll be kind yourself?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I’ll try.”

Hopefully he’s satisfied with that.

 

* * *

 

Normally the galley is deserted at this time during the artificial night, so Brunnhilde is surprised when she sees Heimdall standing at the large window, gazing out into the stars. 

“Do you even sleep?” she asks, heading over to the bar to grab a bottle of the Grandmaster’s liquor.

Heimdall nods, maybe just to acknowledge her, but he keeps staring out at the universe spreading before them. “The quiet makes it easier to see.” 

Brunnhilde screws open the bottle and gingerly lowers herself into the chair beside him. Her head is still spinning too much for sudden movement. “Thought that wasn’t a problem for you.”

Heimdall’s shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. “It becomes harder when I cannot draw on the power of Asgard.”

 _Well, shit._ It seems insensitive to ask what would happen if his power fades entirely, but the question lies on the tip of her tongue. She takes a long sip from her bottle to quench it, the liquid sliding down her throat in a familiar burn.

Outside the stars sparkle with the power of thousands upon thousands of realms, some an Asgardian life time away. There’s nothing like stargazing to make you feel insignificant. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she says, surprising herself.

Heimdall inclines his head. “Of course.” 

“How long did it take Odin to erase the Valkyrior?”

For the first time, Heimdall turns away from the stars to look at her. “Do you really wish to know?” 

“Yes,” she replies, filled with the sudden need to know, no matter how much the answer will hurt. 

“It did not take long for King Odin to reduce you to legend,” he begins. No soft voice, no gentle cushioning of the truth. This is a battle report, from one former warrior to another. “After all, it was believed you all perished. Within a generation, you were but a memory, a story for the children.” 

“But you knew,” she murmurs. “You could see me.”

“Sometimes,” he admits, and she appreciates that he doesn’t try to deny it. “I know when a person does not wish to be found. Yet a grief and rage such as yours will reach across galaxies.” 

She does not know how to respond to this, so she focuses on her bottle instead, the universe stretching on beyond the window. 

“It was a test.” The words, buried for hundreds or even thousands of years, come to her unbidden, stirred up from her dreams. “Odin wanted to see how strong Hela truly was before he used his magic to stop her. We were expendable.” 

Heimdall does not contradict this, and the silence hurts like a knife through the chest. 

“You and I are the only ones who remember Asgard as it once was.” She might as well try to even the score of painful truths. “Maybe it’s better that way.” 

“Perhaps it is.” To her surprise, Heimdall sits down in the chair next to her. “Though Asgard should not deny the darker times in our history.” 

She is not nearly sober enough for philosophical discussions, and Heimdall seems to understand this as he turns to the window and resumes stargazing. 

“There are many nights when the king also does not sleep.” 

The abrupt change in topic causes her to shift, confused. “What do you mean?” 

His face cracks into a smile. “I do see everything.” 

Brunnhilde blanches, nearly losing her drink in the process. “There’s a disturbing thought.”

He actually chuckles at that, something she has never heard him do before. “You have no idea. Though I do try to block things people would rather I not see.”

Suddenly the thought of Heimdall losing his power completely isn’t unappealing. It’s also definitely the time to change the topic before her tipsiness leads her to asking whether he has, for example, seen Loki jerking off, and can he describe this please so she may have blackmail material. 

“You said Thor doesn’t sleep?”

“Sometimes,” he says, because Heimdall is nothing if not cryptic. “You’re not the only one I’ve spoken to here.”

Brunnhilde turns this over in her mind as she looks out to the indifferent stars.

 

* * *

 

Thor looks surprised when she knocks on his door, and Brunnhilde can’t blame him. She has never actively sought him out in his room before; their encounters tend to begin as flirtations elsewhere before ending up in his bed. The lack of planning lent a structure of informality to their interactions, and it hits her that this might threaten to rewrite their rulebook.

Oh well, too late to walk away now. “I couldn’t sleep and I thought…” she trails off, because she actually hasn’t thought as far as her wording. She just woke up with a need to not be alone. It’s been so long she had forgotten what not-alone feels like. 

Also, Thor is wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. 

After a moment that is rapidly threatening to turn awkward, she comes up with, “I thought maybe you weren’t sleeping either.”

“Oh,” Thor says slowly. “Uh… I was about to have a bath.” 

“I’m sorry to—you have a bath?” She must have been really out of it the other night if she had failed to notice that particular detail while shivering in the en suite.

Thor shifts, somewhat defensively. “I mostly use the shower. Saving water, you know.” 

“I do,” she says, looking him up and down. “Most of us don’t have the option of a bath. Guess it pays to be the king.” Thor reddens and she decides to take pity on him. “Mind if I join?” 

Thor blushes even more, but to his credit, his lean against the wall is at least attempting to be seductive. “You would be most welcome.”

Brunnhilde does not hesitate to strip off her tunic and pants the moment she enters Thor’s room. She was never one for modesty, and Thor has seen her naked enough times before. Still, she appreciates his sharp intake of breath and gives him a smirk as she heads for the bathroom. 

The water in the bath is steaming, still and about half full. King or not, Thor isn’t going to waste ridiculous amounts of water by using the various jets, taps and detachable shower heads the Grandmaster obviously installed. Some of the optional attachments verge on the obscene, and she files this knowledge away for later. 

Thor stretches out a hand towards the tub, his towel hanging deliciously low on his hips. “After you, my lady.”

The water feels heavenly around her legs as she steps into the bath, and she can’t help groaning when she sits down and leans back against the wall. “Gods, it’s been an age since I’ve done this.” 

Thor grins broadly at her, then drops his towel without ceremony. “Are baths hard to come by on Sakaar?” 

For a moment, all she can do is stare. She’s seen him naked a couple of times by now, but the sight is still worthy of appreciation. “Um.” She swallows hastily. “Yeah, you wanted to avoid the public baths, unless you want the mother of all infections.” 

“Lovely.” 

Brunnhilde tips her head back against the rim of the bath as Thor climbs in, and sees his short cropped scalp reflected in the glass above them. “There’s a mirror on the ceiling,” she observes, as though it were not already obvious that the bath was installed for more than just washing. 

Thor grimaces. “Yes. I scrubbed the tub earlier.” 

He sits down and the water rolls off his muscles in tempting drips, the soft light glinting on the patch over his scarred eye. It would be easy to just throw her leg over his lap and ride him senseless, but that isn’t really why she’s here. Maybe this bathing together thing wasn’t such a great idea after all. _Focus._ She moves over to lean her back against his chest instead, and he hums happily, washing some water over her shoulders. 

“Hey,” he rumbles. “Are you feeling all right after last night?” 

She doesn’t know why he seems to loosen her tongue. “Last night, when I had… I was dreaming about my lover on Asgard.”

Thor stiffens, and then gently rubs her arm. “Tell me about her.” 

“Her name was Sigrid.” She folds her arms around herself, a sudden chill gripping her despite the warm water. “We trained together as girls. She was two years older than me, so naturally, I worshipped the ground she walked on.” 

She feels the deep stirring of laughter in his chest, as the difference in their ages is the source of endless teasing from her. “Naturally,” he chuckles.

“She entered the ranks ahead of me. I didn’t see her again until I swore my oaths to the throne. We became lovers not long after that.” 

Thor kisses her hair. “How long were you together?” 

“I was eighteen when our relationship began. They say love is fleeting at that age, but it wasn’t for me. We each had our dalliances over the years; we were not exclusively bound to each other. But I loved her only, to the end.” 

“What was she like?” he murmurs, tightening his arms around her. 

“She was…” Brunnhilde takes a shivery breath. “She was as fierce a warrior in battle as you’d find, but in private she was thoughtful, cautious even. I was the hot head.” 

“Really,” he says, sarcasm creeping into his voice. “I’m shocked.”

She gives him a little hit on the arm for that, but his words still make her laugh, relieving some of the tightness in her throat. Thor’s chest is smooth and firm against her back and Brunnhilde leans against his shoulder, letting her thoughts drift with the slight ripples in the warm water as she breathes in the steamy air, the scent of honey soap adding sweetness. 

“She had amazing grey eyes. I used to tease her about being vain because she was proud of her eyes. I’d almost forgotten that.” 

The air chills again against her exposed skin. Sigrid’s face had been fading with all the wasted years on Sakaar. It was easier to push the memory away with an alcohol haze. In the morning the guilt would taste foul in her mouth, and she would drink that away too.

Now Sigrid is again etched in vivid colour in her mind.

She stares at the water dripping off her legs. “Sometimes I think I never appreciated her enough, until she was gone.”

The words hang heavy in the air. The feeling that creeps at the edges of her nightmares, that feed the guilt and the grief and the loathing.

Thor’s arms close around her, and her mind is so far away the touch makes her start. 

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” he says, and she laughs, bitterly. 

“One thing I’ve learned is that loving someone doesn’t mean you can’t take them for granted.”

Thor presses his lips to her shoulder and she feels as much as hears his intake of breath. “I felt that way when my mother died,” he murmurs. “I loved her as any son would, and I still do, but after she was killed I remembered every tantrum I had as a child, every time I could have spent the afternoon with her and instead chose to drink with my friends, and I wish I could have been a better son.” 

She highly doubts he could ever have been a poor son, but maybe, that isn’t the point. Regret and guilt are a bitch of a combination.

“I thought about ending everything, at the beginning.” Her voice is so low, she wonders if he can even hear it, but he kisses her cheek as though he does. “But then I thought killing myself would dishonour her death, so… First I drank to punish myself, then to forget, and then…” She shakes her head. “Eventually I stopped needing a reason.”

Thor pulls on her shoulder, prompting her to turn around until she is half kneeling in front of him. His face is grave, and his brings his hand up to touch her cheek. “Sigrid died a noble death. Surely her soul is in the halls of Valhalla.” 

She covers his hand with hers and lifts it down until their hands rest just under the surface of the water. “I’m not sure if I even believe in all that anymore.” 

He leans towards her and rests his forehead against hers, and for a moment, everything is stillness, just the quiet splashing of the water around them and the hum of the engines keeping their people moving through space.

Brunnhilde sits back to search his face. “I spoke to Heimdall last night. He said you have trouble sleeping.” 

“Sometimes,” Thor admits softly. “There is much to think about.” 

Her lips find his, an acknowledgement, a thank you, an understanding, she isn’t sure. 

Thor cups her cheek, the kiss verging on terrifyingly tender. There it is again, the niggling fear that he might want so much more than she is capable of giving, and the fear that she may want to try anyway.

“Would you like to stay the night?” he asks when they break apart.

“I…” 

It’s too much.

“I don’t know. But we could talk some more, sometime. You know, if that’s what you want to do.” 

He smiles, sadly, and this time the resignation stings.


End file.
